


Go Fish

by HumsHappily



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bisexual John Watson, Happy Ending, Johnlock - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soulmates, Wing!lock, Wingfic, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13097544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/pseuds/HumsHappily
Summary: Finding your soulmate wasn’t something that was easily done. Some people managed it rather early in life, like John’s sister, Harry, and the neighbour girl, Clara. Their wings had matched from day one.Some people had it harder. Had their soulmates change, die, or even sometimes, had it turn out that they had more than one. And then other people….John shook his head, watching Greg and Sherlock argue. At first, he’d thought that maybe the pair were soulmates. But then he’d seen the way Mycroft’s feathers were slowly bleeding sliver, the tips looking as if they’d been swirled in a canister of molten nickel. And the way Greg’s under feathers were shot through with auburns and ambers.Course maybe if John had been paying more attention to his own wings, he'd have noticed his own weren't quite their normal dusty blond.Holmeses. Honestly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> On the subject of wings; Wing!lock is a another AU, sometimes found within the Omegaverse AU. Depending on author's preference, wings can match up with personality, gender, second gender, hair color, the person's hair color, a soulmates wings, etc. In this verse, wings match up to hair color and change to match soulmates together. They are large, like angel wings would be considered, though proportional to to body size. The characters cannot fly though, and their wings are essentially useless. If you consider the wings to be a pretty, but pointless evolutional malfunction or leftover, then you’re on the right track.
> 
> If you have questions, feel free to leave a comment!

Finding your soulmate wasn’t something that was easily done. Some people managed it rather early in life, like John’s sister, Harry, and the neighbour girl, Clara. Their wings had matched from day one. 

Some people had it harder. Had their soulmates change, die, or even sometimes, had it turn out that they had more than one. And then other people….

John shook his head, watching Greg and Sherlock argue. At first, he’d thought that maybe the pair were soulmates. But then he’d seen the way Mycroft’s feathers were slowly bleeding sliver, the tips looking as if they’d been swirled in a canister of molten nickel. And the way Greg’s under feathers were shot through with auburns and ambers. 

Sipping his tea, John looked over at Mycroft, the man examining his umbrella handle as he waited for the argument to end. It was ridiculous, honestly. The way the man ignored Greg. He almost wondered what caused it. If they really couldn’t tell that they were matched. Afterall, Greg had been married before. Or if Mycroft’s icy facade was hiding something else. Or-

John took another sip, choking as Mycroft’s gaze turned on him, cold and calculating, intended to stop his thoughts in their tracks. The choking caught Sherlock’s attention, and the man came over, snapping at Greg as he checked on John, shuffling his wings in concern. John waved him off, and escaped up to his room, watching out the window as Greg stalked off, and the shouting from below resumed as Sherlock started in on his brother. 

Holmeses. Honestly.

John moved to the bed, laying down. Holmeses. Specifically, Sherlock. The cause of most of his trouble and angst. Heartache even. Greg and Mycroft might manage to get together, but him and Sherlock? No way. Sherlock wasn’t...well, Sherlock wasn’t interested in anyone. Let alone him. 

Groaning, John rolled onto his stomach, letting his wings flare out and relax, closing his eyes as he listened to Sherlock and Mycroft’s grumbling. 

**  
“It’s a simple case. I could do it myself, but you’re so better suited,” Mycroft said, obviously bored with the whole ordeal. “Missing locket, heart shaped diamond broken into pieces, the contents stolen from a palace function. I can’t be bothered.” 

“Can’t handle a broken heart? How very telling.” Sherlock gave his brother a smirk. 

“Don’t be smart.”

“That takes me back. ’Don’t be smart Sherlock, I’m the smart one.’”

Mycroft scowled. “I am the smart one.”

“I used to think I was an idiot.”

“Both of us thought you were an idiot, Sherlock. We had nothing else to go on, until we met other children.”

“Oh yes. That was a mistake,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. 

“Ghastly. What were they thinking of?” Mycroft asked, going and taking his seat again. 

“Probably something about trying to make friends.” 

Mycroft gave him a sarcastic smile. “Friends. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now.” He gestured up the stairs. “Feathers need a bit of preening, Sherlock.” 

“And you don’t? Ever?” Sherlock asked, scowling as he snapped his wings back. 

Mycroft sighed. “If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I’m living in a world of goldfish.”

“Yes, but I’ve been away for two years.” Sherlock paced over to the window, and looked out.

“So?”

“I don’t know. No, I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a…goldfish.”

“Change the subject. Now,” Mycroft said coldly. 

Sherlock smirked, and turned back, striding over to the desk. “Play a game?”

He picked up a deck of cards, tossing it at his brother. 

Mycroft scowled. “I do not play children’s games, brother mine.” He tossed the deck back. 

“Yet you seem to assume I do,” Sherlock replied, opening the box and spreading the cards out. “So brother mine, bring me a worthwhile case or get out of my hair.” He narrowed his eyes, picking up a card. “Go fish.” 

He tipped his head toward the window.

Mycroft stood with a huff, tossing a file down on top of the cards. “I expect it solved by Monday.”

“I expect you to be three pounds heavier by Monday. The diet isn’t working, Lestrade will never fall for you if you continue to put on weight like this!” Sherlock called as Mycroft strode out, wings flared at the tips and belying his obvious upset. 

“So, do we have a case then?” John asked, coming down once he saw Mycroft had left and flipping on the kettle.

“Duchess of Cambridge. The shopkeep. There, solved them both,” Sherlock said, nudging the files off the coffee table with his foot. 

John sighed and came in, picking up the scattered pages, and tossing them down onto Sherlock’s stomach. “You can be an utter tosser sometimes, you know that, right?”

Sherlock smirked, fingers steepled under his chin.

“Oi. I’m talking to you,” John said, swatting his nose with the edge of his wings. “In fact-”  
He cut off, catching something strange at the bottom of his wing. He curved it toward him, paling as he saw a few dark plumes scattered in among his own ashy blondes, almost as if he’d gotten ink spilled on his feathers. “Well fuck.”

Sherlock cracked one eye open. “What is it?” He sat up, blinking in surprise. “The teacher?” 

John sighed, rubbing his temple. “She has grey wings. And I haven’t seen her for three months now.”

“The yoga instructor then?”

“Not unless you know yoga,” John replied. “Sherlock. You have black wings. Specifically, dark, black feathers. You bloody crow. You’re my fucking soul mate! I can’t believe this!”

“You’re not gay,” Sherlock replied, sitting up slowly.

“Bisexual. I’m bisexual,” John muttered. “Lemme see your wings.” 

Sherlock gave a small shuffle of his wings. “John, I don’t think-”

“Sherlock. Now.”

Sherlock reluctantly spread his wings out for John. “You won’t find what you’re looking for.”

“Why not?” John suddenly felt his stomach drop as he saw Sherlock’s wings, still just as black as they were the day they’d met. “Oh. Oh. I...Oh. Right. Sorry. Just cause mine are...you know. Doesn’t mean….Right.” 

“No, no, John.” Sherlock scrambled up, running down the hall. He was back before John even had a moment to question, shoving a box at him. “I’ve been preening them. You couldn’t see them, I didn’t want you to know, you’d leave and then…” Sherlock opened the box, showing the muddled black and blond feathers. 

“You pulled them out?” John ran his hands through the feathers. “But…”

“If you’d known, you would have left,” Sherlock said slowly, closing the box. “You would have. They started changing the very first day. Yours...they only started changing now.” He turned away, setting the box on his chair. 

“Sherlock…” John reached out, touching his wings gently. “It doesn’t matter when it happens...It’s happened now.” 

Sherlock turned back, eyes looking over John, reading the truth of his words in the lines of his body. “You want me,” he said quietly. “For more than my body. My mind.”

“I want you for everything. Because of everything,” John said. “Everything that makes you, you. That’s all I want, Sherlock.” Sherlock reached forward, cradling John’s face in his hands. John trailed off, whatever he was saying lost as he gazed up into Sherlock’s eyes. “Sherlock?” he murmured. 

“I love you, John. I will not say it often.” Sherlock searched John’s eyes. “I won’t change. This won’t change me.”

“I know,” John said, closing his eyes, stepping forward and pulling his wings around them. “I wouldn’t want it to.” 

Sherlock tipped their foreheads together, wrapping his wings around John. “So...Can I stop plucking them?”

John smiled. “Yes. Please do.” He tilted his head, and pressed their lips together, seeking out a chaste kiss. 

Sherlock met him halfway, in this as in all things, hungry and dominating, seeking control with only half an idea of what he was doing or where he'd end up. 

John steadied him, gentling the kiss with only a hand to Sherlock’s chest. “Not going anywhere,” he murmured. “Can do this now. Relax.” 

Sherlock nodded slowly. “Yes, John.” He tipped John’s face up with two fingers, searching his eyes. “Yes.” 

John smiled, the kind that had his eyes wrinkle at the corners, and his ears get a tiny flush at the tips. “Good. Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft scowled, preening his feathers in a stony silence as he listened to a conference call. He paused, pressing a button. “Excuse me, Ambassador, but that is not what we agreed on, nor will it be done. Do you understand me? If you'd like to continue in that line of thought, I'll simply sort it out myself. Is that what you wish?” There was a second of silver toned silence, and then a hurried apology. Mycroft gave a satisfied look, and then pressed the button again, going back to his wings.  
  
A small buzzer went off, and Anthea stepped in moments later, setting down a tablet. “Your signature, sir.” She set out a bottle of wing oil as well, and a small dish of pasta. “Your lunch and the oil you requested sir. Would you like some wing dye?”  
  
Mycroft scowled. “You know that will do nothing Anthea.” He signed and handed the tablet back. “They'll be stuck like this until I sort out who’s causing this nonsense.”  
  
Anthea raised her eyebrows, and then gave a small sigh. “Would you like a list of all acquaintances you have with silver wings sir?”

“That won't be necessary, I'm quite capable of sorting this out myself.”

“Oh, are you sir?” Anthea pursed her lips and swept out.  
  
Mycroft blinked after her. “Honestly. I will never understand that woman.” He stood, taking the oil with him into the bathroom, rolling his eyes as the phone call continued on.

**

“Look, Sherlock. Can we hurry this up a bit?” Greg called. “I’m not really liking you up there!”  
  
Sherlock scoffed and fluttered his wings, turning away from the roof’s edge. “Honestly, John. Does he think I would repeat the last rooftop incident?”  
  
“A bit.” John ground his teeth, following Sherlock away.  
  
Sherlock paused, spinning around to face him. “You’re angry.”

“Really, Sherlock? Am I?” John set his jaw, wings tense. “Wonder bloody why.”  
  
“I’m not going to jump again. Honestly.”

“I never would have thought you would the first time,” John said coldly. “Are you done up here?” He stalked away, though he didn’t enter the stairwell until he was sure Sherlock was following.  
  
Once they got down, Sherlock flounced over to Greg explaining the case in quick, clipped terms. John waited, and then once he saw Sherlock had finished, he turned on his heel, walking away again.

“John!”

“Not now, Sherlock.”

“But John!”

“I said not now!” John snapped, shoving Sherlock’s hand off his shoulder and turning, wings flaring out.

Sherlock drew back, wings drooping. “John?”  
  
“Not right now,” John sighed, folding his wings back, aware of the officers watching them both. “I’m gonna go for a walk, pick up milk. Just...I’ll see you at home.”

He turned, only to stop as Sherlock’s wings brushed against him, and Sherlock touched his shoulder again. “John. Wait.”

“What?” John asked quietly, turning around to look at him. “What Sherlock, is so-”

“I’m not going to leave you again.” Sherlock examined his face and then leaned down. “I promise you, John,” he murmured, soft lips brushing just against John’s chapped ones. “I will not leave.” John’s eyes widened slightly, and then he shut them as Sherlock pressed their foreheads together for a long moment, cupping his face. “Do you understand?” Sherlock asked quietly after he pulled away.

John gave a small nod. “Yeah,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “Yeah. I...ah. Still gonna take that walk.”

“Of course. Pick up lye.” Sherlock turned, walking back to the crime scene.

John watched him go for a moment and then shook his head. “Lye,” he muttered.

**

Sherlock swept back over to Greg, ignoring the shocked looks he was getting.  
  
“What was that about?” Greg asked, looking at him in confusion. “You and John...when did that happen?”

“His wings finally changed,” Sherlock replied, looking up. “Continue on with this...idiocy. Explain the case you have for me.”

“Your wings haven’t changed?”

“I’ve been preening them, Lestrade, do keep up.”

“For how long?”

“Long enough.”

“First few days then?” Greg looked up at him, crossing his arms.

“Since the very first day he arrived. The case, Lestrade.” Sherlock looked down at him, holding out his hand.

Greg sighed, and reached into his coat, pulling out a notebook. “This is all I have. Enjoy. Molly will let you in to see the body and a few other bits you might enjoy.”  
Sherlock snatched the notebook, eyes gleaming. “Yes. I will. Tell Mycroft I said bugger off.”

“Wait, what?” Greg looked up to find Sherlock gone, and a dark car idling at the curb. He sighed, signalling to Sally. “Going back to the office,” he called. “You’re in charge.” She nodded, and Greg ducked under the tape, going over and getting in the car. “Mycroft. Sherlock says hello.”

“As normal I suppose?”

“Course.”

“Yes, well. I've given him case, and I expect he may get into some trouble over it.” Mycroft handed Greg a thin file.

“This all?” Greg asked, flipping it open.

“It's all you have clearance to know.”

Greg looked up at him, an eyebrow slightly elevated.

“And how is Miss Hooper?” Mycroft asked.

“She’s fine I suppose. Unless Sherlock goes and causes trouble for her, I just sent him that way to see the body.” Greg shrugged. “Why?”

“I should think it would be obvious. When will you two be announcing your betrothal?”  
  
“Uh….What’s that now?” Greg asked, at a complete loss as he looked Mycroft up and down.

“Your betrothal,” Mycroft repeated.  
  
“I’m not getting married.” Greg stared at him. “Do you think that…” Greg glanced at his wings. “You don’t think that this is because of Molly, do you? I mean, first off, her hair isn’t actually red, she just dyed it that way last month. She actually hates it.”  
  
Mycroft blinked. “So you are not involved with Miss Hooper?”  
  
Greg snorted. “No. Why did you think that?”  
  
“You’ve been meeting with her regularly. At her flat. You brought her lunch, just recently, and you both went out to a restaurant.”  
  
“Yeah, I have, and yeah, we did, but that doesn’t mean we’re engaged. She’s helping me out with my new cat, he’s a rescue, and sorta nervous.” Greg stared at him. “Mycroft, why are you so...aggressive about this?”  
  
Clearing his throat, Mycroft glanced away, as if disinterested. “Because it is important that I am kept abreast of developments in the lives of those who interact with my brother. If it is simply a business arrangement, then I am less concerned.”  
  
“No, you’re not.” Greg sighed, and leaned forward, rubbing his temples. “Look, Mycroft. Whatever this is...just come out and say it, won’t you? I’m getting damn tired of dancing around the subject, and wondering what we are to each other. I know you’ve seen your own wings changing, and I’m sure that with your job you know a lot of people with silver hair, but I only know one person with red hair.” He propped his elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on Mycroft. “So. You wanna get coffee or something? Might make for a better date than being interrogated over my relationship with Molly Hooper.”  
  
Mycroft blinked, looking at him. “You...think this is a date?”  
  
“I’ve given up calling the little kidnappings you orchestrate anything different.” Greg gave a little shrug. “I enjoy them too much for them to be anything different. What do you think about it?”  
  
It was a moment before Mycroft could nod in agreement, and Greg smiled as he did. “Good,” he said, shifting over to the seat next to Mycroft. “And now that I’ve left you speechless, I’m going to go a bit further. Be my boyfriend?” he asked, slipping his hand onto Mycroft’s thigh and giving it a squeeze. “Let’s do this properly. God knows we’ve known each other long enough.”  
  
“That term is horribly juvenile,” Mycroft responded, still a bit stunned “Would partner suffice?”  
  
“Partner is horribly serious. Are you willing to commit to that this early on?” Greg said.  
  
Mycroft hesitated, and shuffled his wings a bit, showing the drips of silver slowly making their way up his feathers. “It can hardly be anything else.”  
  
Greg smiled, relieved as he curved his own, showing off his inner feathers and the distinctly red tones of the new growth. “Thank god,” he said quietly. “Thought you’d be one of those pragmatic wankers and wouldn’t admit this meant we were matched. That wing colors are just all a crazy evolutionary development.”  
  
“They are,” Mycroft replied. “But that does not mean the choices and pheromones our bodies change in reaction to are without merit. I...do not date. If this is to be something, it must be concrete, and committed.”  
  
“I’ve been married and divorced already. I don’t want something that’s just up in the air. I’m an adult. I want an adult relationship, where we can communicate, and actually...trust each other.” Greg smiled, leaning close. “Do you trust me, Mycroft Holmes?”  
  
“Yes.” Mycroft wet his lips, eyes wide.  
  
“Good.” Greg went in for a kiss, Mycroft meeting him halfway, tugging him just a bit closer as the driver rolled up the partition.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me [here](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> Any notification of errors are accepted with gratefulness that knows no bounds.  
> Kudos, comments, and your happy (pained) flailing are accepted with glee. I hope you enjoyed!  
> 


End file.
